


Sebben Crudele

by Robottko



Series: Ghastly Grim [16]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Blood Drinking, Hypnotism, Kissing, M/M, Master & Servant, Vampires
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-18
Updated: 2016-08-31
Packaged: 2017-12-29 17:36:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1008170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Robottko/pseuds/Robottko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock had lived a long life with many servants, but the one that mattered the most became the one who would threaten his very existence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Day #16: Vampire

It didn’t take much for Sherlock to convince the silver-haired human to follow him home. The man had been sitting at the bar for over three hours, clearly drowning his sorrows with a pint when the vampire sat down next to him.

"Personal trainer or boss?" He asked, sitting down next to the man.

"Sorry, what?" The human asked in confusion. Sherlock sighed deeply, as if he felt the man was being deliberately stupid.

"Your wife. Did she leave you for her personal trainer, or her boss?" Sherlock repeated.

"Her boss." The silver-haired man looked shocked. "Sorry, how did you know that?"

"I didn't know, I saw." Sherlock said stiffly. The conversation was quickly becoming tedious, and Sherlock hadn't had anything to drink in two weeks, but he ignored the burn, hoping for an easy meal. "Simple, really. You're comfortable here, everyone knows you and they know how you take your drink. It's not as though you come here while you’re happy, however. They're used to seeing you sad, they would have shown at least a little concern if you had shown up looking down. You fiddle with your wedding ring quite a bit; unhappy marriage, most likely a cheating wife. Something happened today to cause you to drink more, however. You were doing well mentally after chugging down two pints of beer, but after the third one, you started to get sloppy. So you’re used to drinking, but not used to that much in such a short period of time. This is something that is related to what normally causes your marriage problems, but worse. Wife left you. Simple." Sherlock takes a breath of air, looking bored.

"Wow, that was a bit...well, creepy, to be honest." The human said with a shake of his head. “The name is Greg Lestrade, it’s nice to meet you.”

Sherlock chuckled, taking the human’s hand in his own and giving it a quick shake. “Sherlock Holmes. Pleasure.”

Sherlock could smell the intrigue in the human’s blood, and he knew that playing a long game of cat-and-mouse would bore the both of them. Pushing himself away from the bar, Sherlock gave Lestrade a long, hard look before striding away. It only took two seconds before the human began to follow.

“Can I ask where we’re going?” Lestrade asked when he caught up to Sherlock, his breath only slightly elevated from trying to keep up with the taller vampire. Sherlock smirked, glancing at him briefly.

“Not important.” Sherlock replied. Lestrade made a noise of annoyance, but made no further protest as they walked along the deserted streets, turning down an alley. It was obvious from looking at the man that he was someone who craved danger. The thought shot a wave of nostalgia through Sherlock, mixed with a strange hint of longing.

Maybe Greg Lestrade wasn’t a good idea as a potential slave; after all, Sherlock would have difficulties drinking from the human if he constantly reminded him of his last slave.

The vampire quickly shut his straying thoughts down, focusing on the rich smell of blood that was oh so willingly following him down the tiny alleys. The copper smell mixed nicely with a hint of scotch and pinecones; not an unusual smell, but definitely a break from the mundane. Sherlock sucked in a deep breath before turning on Lestrade, pinning him against the dirty brick wall of the alley.

“What are you-” Lestrade’s panicked voice tapered off as he looked up into Sherlock’s eyes. His sharp eyes, slightly glassy from the effects of the alcohol, completely unfocused for a few seconds before snapping back into reality. Sherlock smiled gently at him.

“You’re safe.” The vampire began, his voice deep, calm, and reassuring. “You are always safe with me as long as you serve me well. Your master is thirsty now; be a good slave and offer me a drink.”

Lestrade nodded slowly, the glassiness in his eyes having nothing to do with the alcohol now. “Of course, master.” He breathed, baring his neck.

Sherlock made a pleased sound before bending low, inhaling the clean scent of copper and pinecones. The smell of scotch was an interesting addition, and completely natural. Lestrade had been drinking beer of course, but the overwhelming smell of alcohol resided primarily in his mouth. The muted scotch smell permeated everything, a welcome kick to blood that would be overly sweet otherwise.

Sherlock licked Lestrade’s skin before biting down, making a satisfied noise as blood welled up through the holes to greet him. This one was so plaint, he would make a nice slave.

So immersed in his task, Sherlock failed to notice the figure moving toward him at lightening speeds. Before he had a chance to even suck, Sherlock was knocked away from his slave, landing in a heap on the ground. Letting out a feral snarl, he jumped to his feet, prepared to attack whoever stopped him from feasting.

“You bit him!” The achingly familiar voice said angrily. “Now he’s going to turn, you idiot.”

Sherlock quickly regained his composure, fixing a mask of cool indifference on his face. “Not if you let me drink. The venom hasn’t had a chance to spread yet.”

“No.” The blond said, glaring daggers at the brunet. The effect of this was ruined by Lestrade flopping against his shoulder, the venom that spread through his veins working as a relaxant.

“Then you could do it.” Sherlock suggested next, a humourless smirk forming on his lips.

“I don’t drink human blood!” The blond vampire reminded him unnecessarily. As if Sherlock could forget.

“Your third option is to allow him to transform, wasting a perfectly good slave.” Sherlock replied.

“Third option it is then.” The blond growled, swinging Lestrade over his shoulder. Sherlock watched the blond dart off, Lestrade over his shoulder, his silver hair waving in the wind. He waited until the pair vanished before turning to punch the brick wall next to him, leaving a sizable crack.

“John…I miss you.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On this day, August 31st, in 1990, a child by the name of Robottko was born. It was decreed that every year on her birthday, she shall update every fanfiction that is a WIP. So, it is with great honor that I present to you this update.

_1881_

Sherlock knew better than to be outside in public when he hadn’t had anything to consume for over a week, but he needed the equipment that St Bartholomew’s had in its lab. Just the month before he had gone on a rampage, draining at least four humans, and biting at least twenty, before Mycroft had put a stop to him. Mycroft, of course, was confident that he managed to kill the bitten before they were turned into vampires, but Sherlock was not so sure.

Of course, he was busy at the moment, so the need for blood could wait. The vials in front of him not displaying the results he wanted.

“Absolutely ridiculous.” Sherlock huffed, dropping a small white crystal and adding a drop of fluid to the blood and water mixture. He grinned brightly when a brownish dust settled at the bottom of the vial.

He could hear to pairs of feet walking toward him, and he could barely contain himself, practically leaping from his discovery.

“I’ve found it! I’ve found it!” Sherlock cried, turning towards the two men approaching him. One of them was his trusted servant Stamford, the other was a man he didn’t know. The stranger had blond hair, and a thick blond moustache. He was short, tan, and skinny as a lath. "I have found a re-agent which is precipitated by hæmoglobin, and by nothing else.”

“Dr Watson, Mr Sherlock Holmes.” Stamford said by way of introduction. Though he was slightly annoyed by being ignored, he stuck out a hand to Dr Watson, shaking it firmly.

“How are you?” Sherlock said, pulling his hand away quickly after the handshake. While the gloves he was wearing wouldn’t immediately alert the human to how cold he was, prolonged contact would prove to be ill-advised. “You have been in Afghanistan, I perceive.”

“How on earth did you know that?” Watson looked astounded, which caused Sherlock to chuckle.

“Never mind. The question now is about hæmoglobin.” Sherlock redirected the conversation, wanting to boast about his discovery. “No doubt you see the significance of this discovery of mine?"

"It is interesting, chemically, no doubt," Watson answered, "but practically-”

"Why, man, it is the most practical medico-legal discovery for years. Don't you see that it gives us an infallible test for blood stains? Come over here now!" Sherlock grabbed Watson by the sleeve of his coat, dragging him to a large container of water. “Let us have some fresh blood.”

He grabbed a pipette, drawing a drop of blood from a blood-bag and transferring it to the container of water. The men and vampire watched as the blood fell from the pipette, swirling in with the water below.

"Now, I add this small quantity of blood to a litre of water. You perceive that the resulting mixture has the appearance of pure water. The proportion of blood cannot be more than one in a million. I have no doubt, however, that we shall be able to obtain the characteristic reaction." Sherlock rattled off, dropping a white crystal into the water, followed by clear liquid. Sure enough, a brownish dust formed at the bottom of the container. Watson looked impressed with his discovery, and Sherlock grinned, preening slightly."Tell me though, how do you know that I’ve been to Afghanistan?”

“Simple.” Sherlock said, sucking in a breath. “Your haircut is that of a military style, and you hold yourself as a military man would. You are tan, but not below the wrists, so you haven’t been on vacation. You were invalided, shot in the shoulder, but you have a psychosomatic limp.”

“That was amazing.” Watson says after a minute, and Sherlock stared at him, blinking several times.

“You truly think so?”

“Yes. Of course it was. It was brilliant.” Watson smiled.

“I confess, that is not what people usually say.”

“What do people usually say?”

“Be gone, mad man.” Sherlock chuckles, and Watson laughs along with him.

“I am afraid I must be going.” Watson said after a minute, throwing Stamford a regretful look. “I am needed elsewhere. I happened upon Stamford in the park, and he offered to show me our old classrooms.”

“Yes, of course.” Sherlock replied, watching him now. He had been ignoring his hunger throughout the exchange, but he could not deny it any longer. Watson’s blood smelled delectable, and he knew he had to have it. “I shall not keep you. It was good to meet you.”

“The pleasure was all mine.” Watson smiled, before turning and leaving the room.

Sherlock watched him go, plotting ways to convince the man to become his blood donor. So lost in thought was he, that he didn’t notice his servant watching him.

“I know that look.” Stamford said. “You want his blood.”

“Yes, I do.” Sherlock confirmed, turning to look at his servant. “That means I have no use for you anymore. You have served me well these past six years, and I shall honour you for them.”

“You’re going to turn me?” Stamford gasped.

“Of course.” Sherlock replied, and he moved quickly, nipping his servant on the wrist. “You have four hours before my venom will begin to burn. I suggest you take refuge in your home. Mycroft will be informed, and you will be able to join the Holmes coven.”

“I…thank you, master.” Stamford looked overjoyed, tucking his bleeding wrist against his arm. “I am forever in your debt.”

“I will be in to check on your progress in three days. Until then, I shall be at the Met. If you feel unwell, you may send a telegram to Mr George Lestrade.

“Thank you, sir. Good luck with Watson.” Stamford said, leaving the laboratory quickly.

Sherlock hummed to himself, his fingertips pressed together, forming a steeple under his chin. How would one capture a human such as Dr Watson? He hoped it wouldn’t be too difficult.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A great majority of the dialogue was taken from ‘A study in scarlet’ by Arthur Conan Doyle. I wanted to portray how Holmes and Watson originally met in 1881. George Lestrade is intended to be Greg Lestrade’s grandfather. It would also explain why Sherlock can never remember poor Greg’s first name.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's my birthday and I'll cry if I want to. You would cry too if you _forgot to update your fics for two freaking years..._

It was not difficult to find the home of one Dr John Watson; he didn't even need his sense of smell to find the man. It seemed that, for a man that was a soldier, he was not paranoid of those following him.

As soon as Stamford left, Sherlock had made his way out of Saint Bartholomew's hospital, taking the back way as to not alert suspicion. He quickly scanned the area, finding Dr Watson quicker than he had expected. The man exuded an air of confidence that appealed to Sherlock, and though his stature was small, he seemed larger than life.

Sherlock trailed after him, ducking behind street cars and carriages as he went.

When Watson ducked down an alley, Sherlock followed, wondering if this was some kind of shortcut for the human. He was extremely surprised to find himself pinned against the wall just moments later, a wary looking Watson glaring up at him.

"Holmes?" Watson asked, panting slightly. "You're the last person I expected. What are you doing following me?"

"I confess that I didn't expect you to overtake me," Sherlock said in delight. "I have a proposition for you."

"Oh?" Watson raised an eyebrow, "And it involved you following me home?"

"Yes," Sherlock replied. "One never knows when someone is listening."

"Are you suggesting they're not listening here?" Watson asked.

"It's a possibility, but unlikely," Sherlock replied. "Come, walk with me, and I shall tell you my idea."

They left the alley, turning and striding towards the Thames. Watson kept glancing up at Sherlock in curiosity, which Sherlock steadfastly ignored. The smell of Watson's blood was almost too much to handle; he had never smelled anything quite this good before.

"Tell me, Holmes, are we going to walk all over London, or will you tell me your thoughts?" Watson asked, and Sherlock could hear his amusement in his voice.

"What are your thoughts on vampires?" Sherlock asked, stopping quickly. It took Watson a few seconds to realise he had stopped, and he turned around to join him once more.

"Vampires, you say?" Watson mused. "Why, I think they make for an entertaining story. Why do you ask?"

"Vampires are not the stuff of myths and legends," Sherlock said, watching Watson's face. "For centuries, we've been hidden. Our human slaves have made it so we don't go on rampages."

"Human slaves?" Watson asked, blinking in confusion. "Egad, Holmes. You don't really consider yourself a vampire, do you?"

"Do you consider me mad, Watson?" Sherlock asked.

John stayed silent, gazing at Sherlock in silent challenge. It was as if Watson wanted Sherlock to prove himself.

With a sigh, Sherlock opened his mouth to expose his fangs. He heard the sharp intake of breath from Watson, and he closed his mouth once more. 

"Satisfied?" Sherlock asked.

"Not particularly," Watson replied, "as I now know I'm in the presence of a vampire."

"I'm hardly rogue, Watson," Sherlock said. "And as I said before, I have a proposition for you."

"Go ahead, then," Watson said.

"I am in need of a human blood donor," Sherlock said. "You would be required to live with me, and feed me when I need it."

"And what do I gain from it, Holmes?" Watson asked defiantly. 

"It could be dangerous," Sherlock said with a shrug. He winked once at Watson, before turning and strolling away. Just a few more steps and-

"Very well," Watson said, catching up quickly. "I shall do it. But you're not to kill me, understand?"

"Why on earth would I kill you?" Sherlock asked, hiding his pleased smile. "What a waste that would be."

"Promise me, Holmes."

"Very well, I promise," Sherlock said, holding out his hand. "Do we have a deal?"

Watson took Sherlock's hand and gave it a quick shake. 

"Deal."

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from an aria from Antonio Caldara's opera _La costanza in amor vince l'inganno,_ and it roughly translates into "Although, cruel love."


End file.
